Interlude - Six Months
by susieq666
Summary: Another little one-shot - thoughts of Horatio. How hard is it to live with this man - to love him - when he gives away so little? It's a sequel to 'Interlude' but it stands alone, I think.


INTERLUDE – SIX MONTHS

I lay beside him in the early dawn light. It had been six months. I don't think I knew him any better now than when we'd first met. He still slept restlessly, often waking me, if not himself. But then, I was never a deep sleeper.

I had grown used to recognising things in him, his moods… The days when he came in silent, pushed food around his plate without eating. The haunted quality in the blue eyes. Occasionally, a slight prompt – 'Bad day?' – would elicit a response. Then he'd say 'Mother killed her baby' or 'Whole family wiped out' or some other horror story. Never more. And occasionally, simply saying it seemed to help. The eyes would focus and I'd get a slight smile. Often though, he wouldn't – or couldn't – say anything at all.

He dealt with it, as he had hundreds of times. By morning he'd seem fit to go again. I did wonder how long he could take it, but then reminded myself that he'd been doing it for years and had no doubt developed considerable coping mechanisms. Which, sadly, seemed to include not talking to people, even when they were living with him.

I was in love with him. And he wasn't constantly gloomy. He could be fun, and he could certainly surprise me. One day, we went to Disneyworld, and rode the rollercoasters. Once, we went to an exhibition of Japanese gardens, and he was entranced by the beauty in a tiny maple tree and a couple of rocks. He came home bemoaning the fact that he lived in a seventh floor condo. He was a strange and entirely unpredictable man.

I had learnt a few things about him. That his parents had died when he was young – it was a subject he'd never discuss, but I intuited that it hadn't been 'simple', like illness, or a car wreck. That he had lost his only brother, and his wife, to violence. He wouldn't discuss them either. I hadn't yet met his son. I did wonder, sometimes, what we were doing together, since he didn't trust me enough to share.

I never tried to push. Instinctively, I knew it would simply push him away. I expected, one day, to be told some of it – if I lasted long enough. It was a tightrope, which I walked cautiously. A couple of months back, I might have thought 'What the hell' and pushed anyway. Now I was in love with him…

He lay beside me in bed, sleeping, but restless. Actually, and rarely, he wasn't well. Nothing much. A heavy cold. It was the first time I'd seen him in less than peak physical condition. His reaction to it was one of denial. No, he wasn't ill. No, he didn't need time off. It was inconvenient, nothing more. None of this 'man-flu, I think I'm going to die' crap. So far, he'd simply ignored it. I nudged him gently onto his side, to stop him snoring, curled up against his broad back, and went back to sleep.

Morning found him up early, coughing, his growly baritone reduced to a husky whisper. No sex… Actually, we'd got past the every-evening-and-most-mornings thing. Even if we hadn't, I imagined he didn't feel much like it today.

"How do you feel?"

"Okay. It's a cold." The whisper was oddly appealing.

"You should stay at home."

"Can't do that."

The weather joined in – a crack of thunder, and heavy hailstones hitting the big windows.

"Will you be outside in this?"

He shrugged. "Depends…" He headed for the shower.

When he joined me in the kitchen, he was already fully dressed, gun and badge in place. That was unusual. Normally we breakfasted in bathrobes, a relaxed time before work.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I knew what the answer would be.

"Nothing."

"Baby… At least have coffee…" No point in arguing with him – I'd learned that much. A gust of wind rattled the windows. "Yes? Just till the rain eases?"

I got a wan smile, but a sort of concession too. A concession to my worrying about him, which, in fact, he hated. "Okay."

I poured him a coffee. He sipped it, and coughed. Then excused himself – "Sore throat…"

"I can hear."

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what. I have to go in – you know I do. Anyway, you're going to the clinic, aren't you?"

"I haven't got a cold."

"And I've _only_ got a cold. Don't fuss me." He swallowed a little more coffee, tossed the rest down the sink, and went to the door.

"Do I get a kiss?"

"If you want this cold…"

I could have pointed out that I'd been sleeping in his germs for the last couple of nights, but he came over and gave me a quick kiss. I brushed a strand of red hair off his forehead, noticing how hot his skin felt, how puffy his eyes were, but said nothing about it. "Take care."

"Always."

END


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